The Mists Of Mirkwood
by LeeXD
Summary: Mirkwood has always been a place of mystery and danger, but during the Third Age as Sauron begins to rise to power, the Northern regions face extinction from the powers of the Orcs and Uruk-Hai. The only thing that stands in their way is a band of warriors, fighting for their land, for their people and for hope itself.
1. The Past And Present

A slow mist travelled through the great woods of Mirkwood. Ever since there was smoke rising from Dol Guldur again a great mist has run through Mirkwood; and the creatures have become tainted and violent, more-so than usual. Not even birds sang on the borders of the forest any more.

The only sounds came from a dull hacking of wood just inside of the woods themselves, and this was due to two people, one a young boy in his teens with both man and Elvish features, and the other an Elf. He was a tall handsome man, who although was pleasant to look but had a rugged darkness to his piercingly blue eyes. The Elf was Adanedhel Luinwe and with him was his son, Bervul. The boy was a strong looking lad who had the high brow of the Elf but his eyes, the complete opposite of his fathers – a dark brown – had the courage, the belief, the weakness of man.

They both carried large axes, but Adanedhel had a bow with him. One would chop off the branches of the large, strong and somewhat lively trees, whilst the other would chant in Elvish. The chant was them talking to the forest, for they need wood to build, but the Ents (although many believe them to be gone) would often be displeased with these actions, so must be appeased.

The day drew on, the light slowly fading and the mist building up. Bervul was cutting the wood when Adanedhel stopped his chanting, signalled to his son to stop and glared into the depths of Mirkwood. "Father, what do you see?" Bervul questioned, fear clearly creeping in, but before a response could even be thought of from the dark an arrow whistled towards them, missing the older man by a fraction.

"Bervul, run!" was all Adanedhel could muster as he dropped his axe, grasped his bow and shot into the darkness, and all that was heard next was a horrifying screech of agony. "Orcs! Bervul, why are you still standing here?" The boy was almost rooted to the spot, he couldn't move. He had heard about Orcs from travellers in Esgaroth, and none of it he liked; Elves, corrupted by the powers of evil and now so corrupt, so merciless that they would kill their former kin. "Son, leave now!"

Bervul snapped out of his reverie and scrambled towards the light of the moonlight, just outside of the forest, but something told him to turn around. Some voice in the back of his head. He turned, and was horrified as to what he saw, his father now surrounded by some of the foulest looking creatures he'd seen, they had brown skin and yellow pointed teeth, blood dripped down from their fangs. They didn't even walk like Man or Elf any more, it was more animal like than anything.

However, Adanedhel seemed to be killing Orc after Orc after Orc, he had now moved on from the bow and arrow and once more had his axe in his hands. Strewn across the floor were the bodies of these foul creatures, and now more at his feat. However, from the darkness trudged something. It looked like an Orc, but it stood up straight and it's eyes, they pierced into your very soul and made you feel cold. "You maggots, kill that Elf. We can't have anyone knowing of Saruman's plans!"

Striding forward this creature struck fear into both his allies and Adanedhel, but the Elf continued to strike down the Orcs. He continued forward, into the fray, stepping on the corpses of the fallen Orcs and glaring into Adanedhel. "Well fought Master Elf, but now it is time for you to feel my blade on your throat, for the Uruk-Hai and my master, Saruman cannot allow anything to get in our way for this operation."

"It matters not, these are the woods of the Sindarin and it shall remain so!" bellowed the Elf as he charged towards the Uruk. However, before he could land one hit the Uruk's blade came out of it's sheath, knocked the axe out of his hands and sliced his head off in one swift movement.

"Foolish Elf. No-one shall beat Rashluk the Destroyer!" He snarled and cackled, causing more fear than the battle screams of the Orcs prior to him appearing. However, Bervul still stood there, still frozen from fright and horror at seeing his father being so mercilessly slain. "Smell that you maggots? Smells like.. Smells like half-breed." Rashluk's eyes then fixed on Bervul, seeing, feeling, smelling his fear. "Boys, get him. I'll let you torture this one."

The remaining Orcs surrounding Rashluk smiled with their fanged, yellow teeth and turned, beginning to go after the boy. Bervul turned and ran as fast as he could, not daring the turn back – he could hear their foul laughter and heavy breathing as if they were right next to him.

Bervul's breathing rate increased and a stitch formed in his side, but he knew he couldn't stop now, and with the River Running in sight he knew he could have some sort of safety there hopefully, with guards being on duty. But his thoughts were cut short when his ankle was grappled by one of the chasing Orcs, "Well, little Man-Elf, you've led us on this lovely chase, but now I think it's time we tear your flesh from your bones." Grinned one of the Orcs, drool creeping down his face – he clearly was hungry.

However, just as the Orc had got out his serrated dagger a bright light shone around them, and the Orcs panicked, the light caused these dark creatures to whimper like an injured dog, and crawl back to Mirkwood, back to the darkness, back to Rashluk.

"My boy, what has happened?" Came the soothing voice of Radagast the Brown. "I heard from one of the birds that two men were in danger, but I see only you now. Pray tell, where is your father? And why were there Orcs, here, in Rhovanian?"

Bervul looked into the old man's eyes, he saw warmth and sincerity and opened up to him and that only led to him bursting into tears. With bleary eyes he told him how his father was slain by a creature similar to an Orc called Rashluk and how he had a small group of Orcs with him, and whilst a lot were slain by Adanedhel some still remain. Bervul stuttered and with a pale face finished retelling all that he saw. Radagast sat on a log with him by the River, smoking on his pipe, listening to every syllable intently.

"Well my boy, it seems like the Shadow in the East is really becoming threatening, and you say that he mentioned Saruman? Are you sure in your fear you got it confused with Sauron? As I doubt the White Wizard would stoop that low. Anyway, with your father now gone, and your mother gone for the past decade, you had best come with me, I'll teach you the ways of the world from a Wizards view." Radagast said with a smile. "Everything will be all right!"

* * *

Years had passed now, and Radagast was true to his word and had raised Bervul as if he was his own. Bervul was now a tall, well built man who was skilled in both the large axes, hammers and long swords, but since the untimely death of his father had not touched a bow.

Since the death of his father Bervul had sworn revenge on both the Orcs, Uruks and especially that scum, if he still breathed, Rashluk. Bervul had trained for those encounters, becoming Captain of Dale and its Northern Realms, and he was now known for his ruthless and brutal killings of all manner of dark creatures, extending from Orcs, to Wargs, to Goblins.

However, it was somewhat coincidental that four years to the date of Adanedhel's murder he was back in that corner of Mirkwood, almost in the spot. Still, skeletons lay there of both Orc and Elf, but Bervul could not risk to get distracted. He had a mission, both Orc and Uruk had been spotted here in the recent weeks, chopping down trees and stealing livestock.

"C'mon you Mordor scum, I know you're here somewhere." Bervul growled under his breath, his knuckles going white from the amount of pressure he was putting in his grasp of his longsword. He stalked silently into the depths of Mirkwood searching for any clue, and it was not long before he found one. "Hello, what do we have here?" He smiled, almost sadistically.

In front of him, on a large log covered in purplish moss sat a silhouette in front of a fire; and from the Orkish bow on his back it seemed pretty likely that it was one of those dark, disgusting creatures. Bervul continued to sneak closer and closer, his already tight grip tightened once more on his blade. His senses felt like they spiked, he could hear his heartbeat, feeling the slight drizzle trickle down his brow, seeing the slow falling of that purple moss from the log.

Once he was close enough he lifted his sword into the air and readied himself for the strike, but before he knew what hit him everything was black. The next thing he knew he had no armour on, his blade was taken off him and he could see multiple silhouettes around the fire, hear a deep, bellowing laughter and smell of pipe-weed, Longbottom Leaf maybe? "Wait a minute, no Orc would smoke that..." Bervul pondered before passing out once more.


	2. A Man, a Hobbit and a Dwarf

"Well, either he's an Orc who really looks after himself, a very rich man of Dunland or someone on our side." Bellowed out a young, ginger Dwarf, his short beard covered in some sort of food and in his mouth a pipe stuck out. "But if I'm entirely honest, but somewhat disappointed, I think he's the latter. What do you think Iornald?"

Leaning up against one of the logs sat a Hobbit, his hairy feet near the fire, and he too had a pipe sticking out from his mouth, "Why are you asking me? I'm just here to sneak Thodsi, I'm not the one deciding things like that," the Hobbit said with a smile, "But you know, if you thought about it, you could just ask him when he wakes up? As you know, he doesn't have a weapon and most likely won't kill you."

Thodsi stared blankly at Iornald for a moment, before bursting out into his deep bellowing laugh, before Iornald followed suit and started to laugh. "Where'd you find this one, eh Sturion? He's got a sense of humour on him!" Spluttered the Dwarf between his earth-shaking laughs.

In the dark, on the purple log sat a very stern looking man, who's tall brow and large nose gave away his heritage clearly. He was a man of Gondor. As Bervul had seen in the dark, on his back he carried an Orkish bow and at his side two sheaths were there, with two swords inside with handles encrusted with sapphires. "Well, considering he is a Hobbit, the Shire maybe." Sturion replied dryly. His emotionless features watching the unconscious Bervul.

"Really? I've met a couple of those Shire-folk before and they're nothing like this little guy!" Thodsi bellowed once more, his tone seemingly becoming louder the more he laughed. "Anyway, I'm hungry, want some more Iornald?" He said as he went to get more food.

However, that thought was cut short by Bervul stirring. "Ah, what on Númenor hit me?" He said to himself, before realising where he was and what had happened, but before he jumped to his feet and prepared to fight he noticed the three around him, he wide-eyed Dwarf stood a few yards away from him, pieces of meat strewn across the top half of his somewhat short beard, a Hobbit on the opposite side of the fire from him, puffing away on a pipe not realising that their 'prisoner' had awoken and almost in the background he could see the glare of a Man, his eyes not breaking contact from Bervul's and his right hand slowly going towards one of his sapphire encrusted blade handles.

Thodsi seemed shocked, but still managed to splutter out some words (and a lot of the meats in his mouth onto Bervul), "Good to see you're awake, now answer us a question we've been wondering, are you a well groomed Orc, well-off Man of Dunland or are you actually on our side?" Thodsi cried out in laughter after he finished questioning Bervul.

"Ask him if he wants some Pipe-weed, I've got some spare and another pipe over here!" Piped over a rather merry Iornald who had now noticed the awakening of their guest.

Sturion shot up from in the background and raced towards the still confused Bervul, and pulling out his encrusted sword he held it against the throat of the Man of Dale, "State your name, what you're doing in Mirkwood and why you tried to attack me? Also, Iornald, Thodsi, this is not a guest, for all we know he is a spy of Mordor and we don't offer them Pipe-weed, okay?"

"Bervul Luinwe, Captain of the Free-Men of Dale." He snarled, clearly not appreciating this wake-up. "As to why I'm in Mirkwood that's on a need to know basis and I tried to attack you as you're carrying an Orc bow, and the mist in these woods makes it pretty hard to see, you get me?" This was said as Bervul made his way to his feet, now facing Sturion face to face, but the Southerner still had his blade to Bervul's neck.

Staring into his eyes, Sturion slowly pulled away his blade from Bervul's neck. "Luinwe eh? Any relation to Adanedhel?" His cold grey eyes penetrated into Bervul's soul as if trying to detect any flicker of anger, or if he was lying.

"His son." He said, "Not that it's any of your business. Who are you three? Why is a Man, of Gondor at that, a Hobbit and a Dwarf doing in Mirkwood, of all places? Since the mist began to thicken this place hasn't been safe, for anyone."

Sturion tried to straighten up a bit more in order to appear taller than Bervul as they were both roughly the same height, "That's why we're here. The Council of the North, the collected Free-Peoples have sent us who are skilled enough to find out the cause of the mist and to stop it; I Sturion Isilrim of Gondor, son of Selmacas, Iornald Took, son of Dinodas and Thodsi Thunderhide, son of Gamil."

"Mae govannen. As you have heard previously, I am Bervul, son of Adanedhel, and I have come here to find out the cause of the Orc infestation." Bervul replied in a somewhat monotone voice. "However, I feel that our paths may have intertwined for a reason, do you three possibly need a guide through Mirkwood?"

Iornald and Thodsi had been silent throughout, clearly respecting Sturion's urge, maybe even need to interrogate and inspect this new Man; however, it now appeared it was time to speak again so the Dwarf once more began to splutter out his words, "Why aye laddie, that'd be mighty kind of you. These woods are confusing to say the least, but when you add the mist and running into those pointy-ears who'll keep you locked up, it just tickles my beard."

Sturion, clearly irked by the newcomer took out his own pipe and went to sit back in the shade, making sure not to have eye contact with anyone. "Well then, we'd best get moving as it's morning and we wouldn't want to run into any pointy-ears now would we?" Bervul said, irritation clearly in his voice as he clambered back into his armour and grabbed his blade. "Follow me."

He began to walk into the depths, closely followed by Sturion and then the Hobbit and Dwarf. Thodsi however whispered to Iornald, "I've not seen me a Man who takes it so personally when I talk about those Elves, hope I didn't offend the lad."

Iornald smirked, "Well, if that didn't offend him the stench coming off your beard certainly would have, learn to clean it man!" The Hobbit chirped as he increased his speed towards Bervul and Sturion.

Thodsi came to a stop with a massive grin on his face, "They really need to make more Hobbit's like that one." However, his mood soon changed when he realised how far the others had gone in front and how uneasy he now felt amongst the mist, so he began to run after them, begging them to slow their pace for him, "We Dwarves aren't meant for sprinting you know!"

"Master Dwarf, keep up! We have to keep up the pace," Sturion called back as they went further into Mirkwood, further into the mist, further into the unknown. However, their quickened pace came to an abrupt halt as they came to a small opening in the winding trees.

Bervul spoke up, "I feel uneasy here, as if we're being watched." The Captain from Dale slowly moved to his back and grasped his longsword. "Sturion, prepare your swords, tell the others to do the same."

Sturion was somewhat sceptical of the whole situation but still told Iornald and Thodsi to get their weapons; then they waited. All that could be heard from the surrounding mist was that of creatures scuttling and skulking around, and none of it sounded particularly friendly. The four moved closer to each other, and facing outwards with their backs to one another they could see all around.

It was where Thodsi was facing however that there was movement. The bush in front, barely visible from the combination of darkness and mist, began to shake and move. Something was in there. So, the headstrong Dwarf moved closer to it, tightening his grip on his large axe and prepared himself for anything. "Come out you foul piece of Dwarf fodder," he growled under his breath.

However, what came from the bush was something unexpected. From it came a small fox, a similar colour to the Dwarves beard. "You kidding me? We went through all this panic and trouble for thi-" His words were cut off. From the depths jumped a very large Warg, and on top of it sat a revolting looking Orc.

"C'mon you scum, go and cut maggot holes in these four trespassers!" The Orc screeched sadistically from above Thodsi. However, before that Orc could react an arrow had pierced through his eye and was now implanted in the tree, and by the three other warriors there stood Sturion readying another arrow for more Orcs. Thodsi now pushed off the Warg (with a great struggle) before implanting his axe deep in it's brain, he pulled it out swiftly and joined the others in the centre.

"Well, that was unexpected," Thodsi grimaced. "At least now we get to have a little bit of action." And with that last sentence an array of Orcs, Goblins and Craban's came out of the depths and made a beeline for the two men, Hobbit and Dwarf. "Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" The battle cry was the last distinguishable sentence heard before the clash of steel and iron against flesh began.

Sturion was firing arrow after arrow, taking down the Orcs at will and with ease. The foul creatures came in their hordes but still struggled even to make it to the man of Gondor. However, their numbers rather than decreasing seemed to increase, and like a plague they soon were upon Sturion, who then brought out his two sapphire encrusted blades. Within moments Orcs were slain around him, their putrid black blood stained both his torso and his blade.

Next to him Bervul and Iornald also drew blood from the hordes of Orcs. Bervul's longsword sliced through their foul necks with ease, and Iornald (virtue to his height) managed to stab them in the legs, before slashing at their necks with his dagger – although with his height it was effectively a sword for the Hobbit.

Thodsi however was completely surrounded by Orcs, but with fluent movements of his axe he was mutilating creature after creature. His large axe took off chunks of flesh and body parts with ease, and due to him being stocky his balance was flawless. The pure brutality of it was poetry in motion and as the black blood splattered around the numbers of these dark creatures began to decrease.

The Orcs began to retreat now – what was left of them anyway, but as they fled were expertly picked off by Sturion who was now back to using his bow and arrows. Thodsi walked back to the other three, "Well, that was easy."

A glare from Bervul gave Thodsi a greater fright than all of those Orcs he just faced, and walking up to the Dwarf he got as close as he could to be face to face. "Do anything stupid like that again and I for one will let them rip you to shreds." Bervul snarled. "In these woods going off alone, even if you think you can handle it Master Dwarf, is very dangerous and incredibly stupid, you'd be risking not only your life but that of your companions."

Looking around Bervul noticed that the Iornald was searching the corpses of the Orcs for trinkets and soon began to do the same after instructing Thodsi to do so as well; Sturion however had finished collecting his arrows and sat on a branch, his pipe hanging out from his lips as he stared intently into the depths of Mirkwood, in the direction of where the Orcs came from, in the direction of Dol Guldor.


	3. The Nefarious Dark of Dol Guldur

The mist was thicker and darker here; in fact everything in Dol Guldur seemed to be, from the skies of demoralising darkness to the fortress itself, made of dank, dark rocks. This place was truly that of pure evil.

Throughout the encampment there were multiple fires scattered about, with a mix of Orcs, Goblins and other foul creatures, (in fact there were probably too many to even name) and they were all strewn amongst the campfires.

The ruins of Dol Guldur now stood there. The design was clearly that of Saurons and since his rise and fall had fallen into disrepair and had been attacked multiple times - yet that dark aura still remained. The Bald Hill, or in Sindarin Amon Lanc was the former base of operations for the Dark Lord, and things seemed to be changing to that way once more under the leadership of Rashluk. He was there of course, in it's highest peak. Sculking, plotting, prowling.

In that room was where Rashluk was, but not only that – here is where he got his orders through the use of one of the Palantíri. Although it was not actually his by birth right, he had been taught by the White Wizard to control it to some extent, much the same to the Wizard himself. Through this dank orb he would be able to get orders and report progress of his mission back to Saruman in Isengard, the Witch-King in his newly reclaimed castle of Carn Dûm and the Great Eye in Mordor.

"My Lord, the troops are now fully trained in the ways of warfare, and also fully understand how to use that black powder of which you so kindly gifted us with," growled the Uruk in a somewhat subservient manner.

"Good work Commander Rashluk. The Great Eye will certainly be very pleased with your efforts and progress, especially if our blows to these great Northern cities are as effective as our Master hopes." The Wizard snarled, before changing his tone to that of almost a friendly one. "So, how is our guest enjoying her accommodation now?"

Rashluk displayed his sharp, yellow teeth in what can only be described as a sadistic smile. "Very much so my Lord, and if we gain victory at Erebor then our alliance with her will almost be certainly be sealed."

"Good. Very good," erupted Saruman in a smug manner, his mouth contorting and twisted into a somewhat similar smile to that of Rashluk. "Now, Erebor is a fortress, so to gain victory there I suggest you kill those Lake-Dwellers. It should be easy; they are fisherman, not warriors, but in doing so it should draw out those Longbeards. Don't fail me, Rashluk."

With one final grunt Rashluk placed the dark orb onto the large, wooden stand before placing a dark cloth over it. The Uruk trudged out to the balcony and let out an almighty roar. "Right you maggots!" The entirety of the army situated at Dol Guldur turned and looked at him. "We leave for the Northern cities, prepare yourselves and make haste. Today, we taste man flesh!"

Cheers, roars and growls filled up the mist covered air and the foul creatures of the dark were soon prepared to make their move and march out, into the dark depths of Mirkwood once more.

* * *

As Sturion sat there, smoking his pipe, the other three searched the bodies for anything of use. Ranging from trinkets to weapons they took them all - but they found something they didn't expect, or for that matter didn't know. On many of the larger Orcs they had white tattoos printed on their arms, but it was nothing that they had seen before.

The tattoo was that of a dragon. It was fairly basic, but you could make it out vividly. It was a dragon, surrounded in smoke and ruins. The only other detail on it was that of 'S.U.' just underneath it - again in white.

Thodsi, the original one who found it, peered at it. His brow furrowing and trying to work out what it was - but to no avail. Calling over both Bervul and Iornald he hoped to explain the mystery, but again neither of them knew; however Sturion who had been unmoving for the past thirty minutes strolled over and stared intently at it.

"You know what that is right?" He said, his face still in his usual scowl. He still had his pipe in his mouth, blowing out smoke at a consistent rate. "That is the sign of the last Urulokë, that is the sign of Torgunna the Bruker." Sturion said it in a matter-of-factly tone, but the other three were still bemused. "Have you three not heard of Dragons before?"

"Of course we have!" Thodsi said with a cheer. "But what you're saying just doesn't make any sense. First off, what's an Urulokë? And secondly, what does it mean?"

"Well, an_ Urulokë_ is a fire-breathing drake. I thought we were all taught this as children?" He said sourly once more. "It means if we don't get to Dol Guldur soon, then this is going to be a really_ hot_ situation." Sturion finally cracked his scowl with a small, somewhat sadistic smile.


	4. Moments of Revelation

Iornald, Thodsi, Bervul and Sturion made their way through the perilous woods. The mist was getting thicker and thicker, but the dull green and brown of the old forest was still clear - especially with it's branches everywhere, trying to catch an unsuspecting passerby-er into it's midst.

Bervul was leading the way, with Thodsi and Iornald close behind. Sturion of course was a bit behind the three, his hand resting on the handle of his dagger as he trudged through the woods, his eyes shifty and his brow sweaty. He was clearly not at ease.

"It seems night is approaching, we should make camp," Bervul declared as they came to a small grove amongst the erratic branches of the thick trees. Bervul set down his weapons and satchels, before moving a few pieces of debris from the falling leaves out of the way.

"Now lad, how does one do that?" Thodsi queried. "I mean, we've been in these woods for a few days now, maybe longer, and we can't even tell if it's day or night. How can you?"

"It's easy Master Dwarf. My father was an Elf, meaning that I have certain traits of his, including his vision." Bervul said with a smile, clearly feeling more at ease with this Dwarf who had formerly insulted the Elvish race in his presence. "My mother on the other hand, she was a woman of Dale. They fell in love, and he chose a mortal life for her. He said there was no woman, be it Elf or Human who could even compare. Her named was Ingrid, she died in childbirth. My birth."

The Dwarf was clearly lost for words. So, other than saying anything he gave him a warm, sincere smile and patted him on the back, before carrying on with clearing some room for himself to sleep.

"So, Thodsi, what about you?" Bervul offered, trying to keep conversation alive.

"Ah, well Bervul that's an interesting one. I am a Thunderhide from the Iron Hills, so am one of the distant relatives of the Durin-line. My father, Gamil, was a giant of a Dwarf with a beard equally as large - and commanded great respect as my family was originally renown for it's ability of making leather armour at such quick speeds." Thodis beamed at telling Bervul this story as he was clearly proud of his heritage - but his mood seemed to turn dour as he began to speak again.

"I lost him; my father that is, at the Battle of the Five Armies. He was a brave Dwarf, and followed Dáin into battle. I was too young at the time, but apparently he died and in doing so saved Dáin, he effectively saved Erebor if you think about it." Thodsi drifted off, clearly upset with this; a tear in his eye.

"He sounds like he was a great and brave Dwarf, I'd be proud to have known him." Bervul solemnly, softly said to the clearly upset Dwarf. Following this silence followed, and by seemingly agreeing a silent contract they both turned over and drifted off for the night, joining Iornald who had fallen asleep since his head hit the 'pillow'.

Sturion however was the only one awake, still smoking his tattered pipe. The smoke drifted in the wind as he just sat there, staring, planning, hoping. He had faced this dragon before, and had lost so much. He couldn't let it happen again.

* * *

Morning came around, and still the mist remained. Seemingly stronger than ever, but Bervul awoke to begin breakfast and get the others up. However, the fire was still burning and a stew was brewing in the pot - Sturion hadn't slept.

Bervul didn't speak, and neither did the Gondorian ranger. Sturion passed over a small wooden bowl, and Bervul ate the simple broth, and soon after the others had woken up and done the same. They gathered their gear, and the first words of the morning came from Sturion, "How much longer till Dol Guldur?"

Bervul looked into the depths of the forest, and roughly estimated using his nigh-Elvish eyes estimated that they could be there within two hours, if they kept up a good pace. The quartet left quickly, leaving essentially no trace that they'd even camped there, and before noon they had arrived at the wreckage that is Dol Guldur.

"Well, this is a cheery place." Iornald spoke out, trying to lighten a clearly dank mood, but not even a smile from Thodsi came at this time as they moved stealthily towards the ruins, just by the bridge, and into a dark cave. They assumed the dragon would be here.

Following the path they could barely see anything, but they were glad to not actually be in Mirkwood for a bit - although a scratching that seemingly surrounded them was putting all four on edge.

"I really don't like the sound of that, I'd much rather be hearing something, well, Dragon-like." Thodsi spoke in his deep voice, trying to do so as quietly as possible, but still unsuccessfully. His large boots made of some type of metal didn't help either.

But his unease was right, as the scratching got louder and louder, and screeches were being heard just ahead of them. Just ahead of them was a large chasm-like room, it was circular and went down to many levels, but right at the bottom she lay there, surrounded by Orcs and Goblins, both small and large; Torgunna was sleeping at the bottom of this pit.

"Well, it looks like we're going to have some more fun with these stinking creatures, eh?" Thodsi beamed, clearly happy at the fact more Orcs and Goblins would feel the wrath of his axe - and hoping for a chance at this blue dragon that slumbered below them.

"Calm down Thodsi," Bervul whispered. "We need a plan, I doubt any of us have ever faced a Dragon before - let alone an Urulokë. So, we sho-" Bervul's words were cut off as he heard the screech of pain coming from below him - clearly an Orc.

Bervul looked around him quickly, but only saw Thodsi and Iornald. Sturion had gone down the layers, Sturion had headed towards the Orcs, Sturion had gone towards the Dragon.

The man of Gondor was on the bottom level, the corpses of Orcs and Goblins alike were strewn around him but he didn't even have a scratch. The small band of these dark creatures that had been left behind all bore the same white mark that was seen on them as that was on the Orcs they had slain earlier.

Sturion however walked towards the blue lizard, before crying out. "Torgunna the Bruker, I know you do not sleep. I demand an audience." He put his bow back on his back and watched as the Dragon moved to face him, her large eyes piercing into him.

"Ah, Coward of Osgiliath, how nice it is to meet again." Torgunna purred with both malice and delight, her jaw contorted into a yellow-smile, seeing smoke ease out. "Come to sell out your people again? Or are you perhaps here to make a deal with me?"


	5. Dangerous Dragon Deals

The cold rain spat down onto the grey wreckage that is Osgiliath. This once great city had felt the agony of battles between the Men of Gondor and the Orcs of Mordor, and now the former Capital lay there, depleted.

A small unit sat out in the rain, all in large grey _uniforms_. Each with hoods, a full quiver of arrows, strong bows and a patterned Gondorian blade. However, one stood out. He sat there, his warm grey eyes exploring the surrounding area with a pipe hanging out of his mouth. This man had small daggers with him, all of which were encrusted with sapphires.

"Captain Sturion, a messenger from Minas Tirith has just arrived." A young man said as he ran up to what we now know is Sturion - his eyes still with some happiness in them, his brow with less lines in it. The young man passed Sturion the message, before waiting diligently for a reply.

Sturion let the pipe drop from his mouth, his once calm eyes now widening in shock and horror. "Those Mordor-scum are really that desperate to take Osgiliath?" He began to pace, attempting to formulate a plan. "They are planning to get the help of an Urulokë!"

"Sorry Captain, but I thought all the great Drakes had been killed off?" The messenger spoke up, causing the Captain to spin around - he had forgotten the boy was even there.

Sturion walked up to him, almost in his face, the stench of pipe-weed emanating from his mouth. "There is one left. She's possibly the most cunning - that's how she's survived this long." He turned away from the messenger. "If they get a Fire-Drake we won't be able to stop them. Send word to the Steward Denethor, me and my battalion will leave now and head towards the Lunar Cave. There we will try and reason with her."

"Right away Captain!" The messenger blurted out, before running back over the bridge in Osgiliath and back towards Minas Tirith.

"C'mon lads, we have a Dragon to deal with." Sturion jeered as he moved in the opposite direction of the messenger with his troops, towards the East, towards the Lunar Cave in which Torgunna lay.

* * *

"So, traitor, what is it you want this time?" The words slunk out of the Dragons blue lips, with her clearly enjoying this moment of power, this moment of realisation that this 'pathetic human' had to live with the burden she caused.

"I am not that young, naive fool I was then Torgunna!" Sturion shouted out, tears forming in his eyes and his throat catching on his words. "You have nothing you can use against me this time. But, you will say what they are offering you - you owe me at least that much."

The Dragons eyes flared, and she rose abruptly. Smoke now steaming out of her mouth and nose with ferocity. "Owe you? I owe you nothing!" The Drake screeched. "You were the one who made the choice, you were the one who lost all of those men's lives, all to stop you having to die there!"

Sturion fell to his knees, he knew what she was saying was right. He couldn't even look at this cunning, corrupt creature in the eyes. What did that say about him?

Just behind him, from the dark, walked the others - Bervul, Iornald and Thodsi. They walked around him, and faced up to the Dragon, before Bervul spoke, "Torgunna the Bruker, we request an audience."

She smiled. "Oh, I like this one. I accept your request, now speak quickly, I'm tired of that mulch those Orcs call meat and you Dwarf look particularly tasty."

* * *

The captain, Sturion, and fifteen of his best men had gone towards Lunar Cave in order to face the dragon Torgunna - either to strike a deal with the deadly drake or to attempt to kill her off once and for all. The latter however was extremely unlikely, even with the might of Gondor.

The group of fifteen that joined Sturion into the caves were those of the renown Ithilien Rangers, who following the original destruction of Sauron came about to be scouts in the forests and hills of Ithilien. Clad in camouflaged leather they proudly held the symbol of the White Tree on the front of it. The Rangers were feared by Easterlings and Orcs alike.

Upon entering the caves all the could be heard was the dripping of water from the higher levels and the slight patter of feet on the ground from the Captain and his Rangers. Other than that it was eerily quiet.

The cave itself was dark and dank, except for a white marble-like substance running through it's veins - but it was too dark to actually get a good view of it, and even if it wasn't the problem of the Fire-Drake was too daunting for it to even cross a soldiers mind.

The cave system began to decline and spiral. Further and further down they go, the halls getting closer and closer together with the prevailing thought being that of how a great dragon managed to get down to these depths in such tight spaces; and then they saw it.

At the bottom of this maze of a cave was a beautiful pool of water, surrounded by that same marble-like substance, with a small waterfall drizzling into that pool of water; but no dragon.

Sturion looked around and finally saw how Torgunna would get in and out. Atop the chasm was a gaping hole, presumably nearer to the lands of Mordor than Gondor, and she would fly in and out at ease. No Orc would dare face a Drake.

"Let us hope this isn't a wasted journey boys," Sturion spoke out, attempting to reassure his men. "Let us make camp under that ridge and see if she returns to her hole." Sturion pointed across the pathway to the aforementioned ridge and him and his platoon made their way there and set up camp.

* * *

"Torgunna, I will not allow you, or anyone to hurt one of these men. They are under my protection, and so that of Dale's. You hurt them, you hurt Dale - and we both know what happens to dragons when that happens?" Bervul smugly smiled as his chest rose out in satisfaction. He of course referred to the late Bard the Bowmen who struck down Smaug.

She didn't like the comment; a dragon may be selfish but even if she didn't care for Smaug (which of course she didn't) it's still dangerous to insult a dragons species in front of them.

"Charming and cocky, interesting," Torgunna scowled at the man of Dale. "What is it you wish to ask me? Or is it more of an offer?" Her scowl turned the a toothy smirk as she felt the power in the conversation had come back to her.

"Your dealings with Rashlúk must stop. Immediately." Bervul quickly came in with a matter-of-factly tone which caught the smirking dragon off guard. "We know dragons care very little for the affairs of men, so what would it take for that to be the case again?"

Trying to convince a dragon to do anything without having something to offer is foolish, as Sturion found out, so Bervul offering the possibility of something and letting Torgunna decide was wise for the young captain. However, her answer made things more difficult, "Carn Dûm."

* * *

Sturion and the Ithilien Rangers had made camp, and most were sleeping. Sturion however was on watch as he couldn't sleep, something made him feel uneasy - so he sat there with his pipe in his mouth. Not smoking, just letting it rest on his lips.

Then he heard it, a faint whispering coming from just a few levels below him. It was calling his name, but it whispered like the wind on a cold autumns day as it blows the leaves. He stood up, almost mesmerised, and dropping his pipe onto the floor made his way towards this mysterious noise. He followed the caves edges closely, getting closer and closer to this almost intoxicating noise and then he saw something in the corner of his eye.

Spinning around he froze in fear, she was in the cave, she was a giant Drake and she was now facing him, her orange eyes looking into his very soul; and in that same whisper said, "You, or the men."

The man of Gondor was a stuttering mess, never before had he faced such fear. This creatures mere presence caused him to freeze with fright; and now he had to choose between his life or his sleeping, defenceless mens.

Sturion mumbled and passed out. The darkness enveloping his vision and before he knew it he was on the floor.

Sturion awoke hours later from the dripping of water onto his forehead. He did not remember saying his decision, but it was clear that he had selfishly chosen his life over his mens. Then she flew back up to his level, pouncing down in front of him. "So, Coward of Osgiliath I make you one last offer - go to Minas Tirith, tell your Steward of your cowardice and accept the consequences. Never bring your stench back to my cave - do so and I will rip the City of Kings apart brick by brick." She once more showed off her disgusting yellow teeth as the formerly-well respected Captain crawled out of the cave and followed her commands like an obedient dog.

Sturion lost his men, lost his title, lost his respect and was banished from the realms of Gondor for this great dishonour. Denethor swore that if he was to step back into the realm he would be hung from Rammas Echor. Sturion has not step foot back in Gondor since.

* * *

"The abandoned city of the Witch-King?" Bervul chuckled. "Sure, if you do not side with Rashlúk and his rabble then we will give you that wreckage."

The Drake's smile now beamed in a somewhat sadistic matter, "Are you really that oblivious? All is not as it seems Bervul, Captain of Dale." Bervul was preparing his reply when he heard a booming voice from outside, 'Rashlúk and his rabble' had returned.

"C'mon you slimy maggots, they may be here. Let's not let those scum get away with killing our scouting party!" The Dwarf, Hobbit and two Men quickly lost their colour and went pale. If they did not make their move away from Dol Guldur now it is unlikely they would ever escape; and with the laughing of Torgunna in their ears they made their way out of the cave system they were in and back out into the camps of Dol Guldur.

They saw the horror in which they could face - acre after acre of land was covered by Orcs, Goblins, Spiders and Wargs, maybe even more dark creatures, but they didn't have time for any more inspecting of the enemy and instead made their way back into the mists of Mirkwood.


	6. Escape to Emyn-nu-Fuin

The mist continued to fade apart as they ran through, heavily breathing - but unscathed. Thodsi, Iornald and Bervul ran through, Sturion still in a daze and being all but dragged along by the Man of the North.

"You should have left him, for Durin's sake you should leave him now; he's of no use to us 'cept to slow us down!" Thodsi bellowed, his brow furrowed and his fists clenched. "We can't let Rashlúk's rabble catch up with us, we need to stop the invasion of the North, why would any Southerner understand this?"

"Oh the selfishness of Dwarves," Bervul retorted quickly. "He may be of the South, but if we fail then how will the Southern regions fare?"

"Exactly, that's why we sho-" Thodsi was quickly interupted.

"No, we do not leave him. We stay together, we fight. We help him through this and we warn the Northern Cities, and we stop Rashlúk." The Dale-man almost whispered now to the Dwarf, whose evident rage had died down and his furrowed brow of anger now move to eyes of sorrow - he knew what he had done was wrong.

"I'm sorry m'lad, but it's just things have been getting so dark recently..." He began to fade out. "I can't lose anymore people."

"I understand Master Dwarf," Smiled Bervul. "Come now, we must head for shelter, and if I know these woods it'd be best to go to Emyn-nu-Fuin for that - before we make our way to either Erebor or the Halls of Thranduil, plus help us recuperate.

They quickly left, heading North through the mist covered woods, and even though they still pulled Sturion along (still barely able to function) Thodsi now hummed one of the songs of the Durin's folk as they made their way - and then it happened.

Thodsi had been walking ahead, only stopping his humming for directions from Bervul, but this was to be his downfall. From above, where the mist was all the thicker, a spider dropped upon him.

His screams of horror and pain were entwined with the squelching and ripping sounds escalating from his body - and before either Bervul or Iornald could react the spider was gone and all that was left was the now mutilated body of Thodsi. They ran towards the body, still dragging Sturion along. Thodsi was still breathing, faintly, and could only sputter out a few words, "Save... My... Home."

All three surrounded him, frozen in horror and fear. "We will - they will never breach her walls." Bervul sputtered out, a catch evident in his throat; before the Dwarf took his last breath and his eyes were closed by Iornald. "We must move."

"But Bervul, shouldn't we at least bury him?" Iornald pleaded, tears streaming down his face, but the Dale man shook his head, unable to utter another word in fear of joining the Hobbit with tears streaming down his face.

They were however snapped out of this reverie by Sturion, who spoke for the first time since the Dragon, placing a hand on the shoulder of Bervul. "They've surrounded us."

Upon hearing this the remaining three stood, Bervul taking his broad-sword in hand, Iornald taking his Hobbit-sized sword out and Sturion bringing out his encrusted blades. "If we die now, we die with honour." Sturion conceded, with a brief nod from both Iornald and Bervul - and from the depths of the mist skulked out spider, large to say the least, at least the size of small ponies.

The spiders charged from all sides their black and green-ish fur covering the view of the three in the dank woods, but the three stood strong and with swift swings and superior strikes they held back the first assault, black blood spurting everywhere. They strained against the mass forces of the arachnids, fearing that this would be their final stand - until the remaining numbers began to dwindle all the more and they noticed they were retreating.

"Is that all?" Iornald pleaded, but his answer came in the way of the cracks of the trees - a spider twice the size, if not three times the size of the spiders they had been fighting and she screeched and droned - she was covered in rough, reddish fur and any part of her that wasn't was pitch black; she was clearly the Queen (or new Queen) of these giant arachnids; but before they could even react she had pounced, her stinger out and hitting three of them in quick succession - she did not want to kill this one like her children had killed the Dwarf, it had been a long time since she had tasted any good flesh.

"S-s-s-s-send a mess-s-s-age to the Orcs-s-s-s, we have a bountiful meal of persons-s-s-s they want," the large Spider cackled to her children before many of them left, whilst some followed her after they had wrapped the three in webs and dragged them into the Spiders nest.


End file.
